


The Adventure Of The Spencer John Gang (1880)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [26]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Corruption, Framing Story, M/M, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Case 19: A face from the past brings an unusual problem to Holmes' attention – can there really be 'the wrong sort of criminal'? A small matter that grew progressively darker, and which required some irregular (i.e. illegal) methods to resolve it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aely/gifts).



Criminals come in all shapes, sizes and disguises. And this case, which started with a visit from someone we had helped out in a previous case, would end with the untimely (but not undeserved) death of one of the upholders of the law. Yet there was really no other way for it to end. Coming so soon after the comparative levity of the Hammerford Will business, it seemed doubly dark in that year of 'Eighty. 

It was August when a familiar figure graced our rooms in Cramer Street. It was Mr. Gregor Khrushnic, who Holmes had helped clear over the theft of the “Two Ladies” painting four years ago. He had changed quite a bit in those few years, although at least his unfortunate attempt at a moustache had bitten the dust, which was a relief. Pleasantries were exchanged – Holmes made sure to again convey his thanks to his father for his help in the Tankerville Club business – before we got down to the reason for his visit.

“I will always be grateful for you help in clearing me over that painting, sir”, he said. “Recently a rather curious matter has come to my father's attention, and he wonders if you could take some time to look at it.”

“I would of course be delighted”, Holmes said. “Curious how, exactly?” 

“Have you read lately about the Spencer John Gang?”

“I tend to rely on Watson to keep me abreast of the papers”, Holmes grinned, before adding quite unnecessarily, “even if he spends far too long on those social pages of his!”

I scowled (it was not a pout).

“There were behind the Marylebone Station robbery two weeks ago”, I said. “That is their third successful haul, or at least, the third one that has actually been reported.”

“As I am sure you understand”, our visitor said, “my father would not last for very long in his trade if he did not keep a close eye on any potential rivals. He is concerned about this gang in particular.”

“Because he thinks that they may attack him one day?” I asked. Our guest shook his head.

“Because he is not sure as to whether they even exist!”

We both stared at him in confusion.

“The criminal fraternity is, despite the way the papers portray it, a very small one”, Mr. Khrushnic said. “When a new gang appears, it is commonly the case that we know everything about them in a matter of days, sometimes even hours. But this particular gang is either the most careful in existence, or something is very wrong. My father has had agents spy out all the places associated with them, and had found absolutely nothing. Until yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?” I asked.

“A young pickpocket, a Master Albert Doncaster, was found dead in a small warehouse in the docks”, our visitor said. “A note on his said that it was from the Spencer John Gang, and that he had paid the price for trying to double-cross them.”

“And you think that that note was false?” Holmes asked.

“I knew the boy”, our visitor said. “A proper scamp, but no harm in him. And he was a loner; he never worked with anyone else. It just seems wrong.”

“As I once said to your father, impressions are important in your line of work”, Holmes said. “You think that this boy was killed not because he 'crossed' the gang in some way', but to give the gang more credence. Would you go so far as to think that the gang is some sort of artifice, created for some unknown reason?”

“I am inclined to think that way”, our visitor said, “but I cannot see who would benefit from such a subterfuge. There are more than enough such gangs out there just now; one more will make little difference.”

“That depends on the motives behind its creation”, Holmes said. “This sounds a most intriguing case, Mr. Khrushnic, and you should tell your father that I shall give it my full and immediate attention. Tell me, did the late Master Doncaster have any relatives?”

“An older sister, who scrapes a living selling matches and matchboxes on the street”, he said. “That is another complication, in that it threatens to bring in the beggars, whom we most definitely do not wish to upset.”

“That is understandable”, Holmes said. “Thank you for calling. We shall take this case.”

+~+~+

Holmes seemed unduly worried about this case, I thought, and apparently very eager to progress it with all speed. Unfortunately I had to be in the surgery that afternoon, so was unable to accompany him in his visit to see our friend Henriksen. I must have been getting better at reading my friend, for almost subconsciously, I stopped on the way home to buy him a quarter of barley-sugar. I must have felt in some way that he might need it, although his visits to the affable Dutchman usually ended well.

I had been right to be wary. He accepted the barley-sugar with thanks, and I thought I saw what looked suspiciously like a tear in his blue eyes. He was always so surprised when anyone gave him anything, even my now daily transfer of half my bacon.

“Henriksen could not help?” I asked, as we waited for supper to be served.

“I think that he could”, Holmes said darkly, “and yet could not.”

I stared at him in confusion. He sighed.

“I have had a trying afternoon, and am not explaining things well”, he said. “This case increasingly concerns me, especially when I found that Inspector Wright was the officer in charge of it.”

“What is unusual about that?” I asked. I did not like that inspector as a person, but I presumed that he was a tolerable policeman in his line of duty. He had been promoted (and moved) earlier this year, which showed a lamentable lack of judgement on someone's part, but then I supposed that they had to get inspectors from somewhere.

“Two things”, Holmes said. “First, the death of young Master Doncaster occurred some distance off Inspector Wright's patch, and we both know how parochial the police are over such matters. And second, on a related point, the only time such cases are investigated by another area is when the case is important enough to be moved up the chain of command. Limehouse has its own inspector, so why would they need to co-opt one from all the way over in Kensington?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea.

“I could understand if a superintendent or even a chief-inspector had been brought in”, Holmes said. “But the Khrushnics are right to be concerned; I definitely smell something off here. And I do not think that Henriksen was totally straight with me, even though I am sure that he answered all my questions truthfully. The police service are a clannish lot, and I think that he was hiding something.”

“He is involved?” I asked, alarmed. Holmes shook his head.

“He is too honest for that”, he said. “But he suspects something, and is wily enough not to ask questions to confirm those suspicions. He has a family to support and protect, remember.”

“Is there anything that I can do to help?” I offered. 

I had been sure that he would refuse, but he surprised me.

“I need to look at all coverage of crime stories from the past two months in our stack of “Times” newspapers”, he said. “Will you help?”

“Gladly”, I said.

+~+~+

“What do you think?” Holmes asked. “It was some hours (and several cups of coffee) later. My friend had refused to tell me exactly what he had been looking for, saying that he wanted my unbiased opinion, for what little that was worth. 

“The tone of the paper is definitely more hostile towards the police of late”, I said. “And as regards this Spencer John Gang, they are particularly mocking of the police failure to bring in even a single person associated with them.”

“I am glad that you noticed that”, he said. He looked tired, but pleased at all my work. “I thought the same, but it is so easy to find things when one knows what one is looking for.”

“A pity that the police cannot just handily place the Spencer John gang right in front of a large group of armed officers, and 'find' them”, I said.

He looked at me somewhat strangely, I thought.

“Yes”, he said. “But that would just be too easy.”

+~+~+

Mr. Gregor Khrushnic called round the next day, to see how our investigations were progressing.

“Slowly”, Holmes said. “But there is something that your father could do, or at least employ someone to do, which may help bring the matter to a head.”

“What is that?” the man asked.

“I fully expect there to be some sort of happening as regards this Spencer John Gang”, Holmes said, “although unfortunately I cannot predict as to where it will happen. The end result, however, will be very unpleasant. There will be at least three dead bodies, possibly more.”

I looked at my friend in alarm.

“What do you need us to do?” our visitor asked. He, of course, was unperturbed by such a statement.

“I need you to have someone monitoring those bodies as soon as they hit the floor”, Holmes said. “I then need to know _exactly_ what happens to them, and who is involved with their removal. I know that it is a lot to ask, but we are talking about a new and very dangerous type of criminal here. One which, if it is allowed to breed unchecked, will most likely threaten your own family. I am quite certain of that.”

“Not if we scotch it first!” the young man said fiercely.

+~+~+

After our guest was gone, Holmes said that he was going out for the evening, and asked whether I would come with him.

“Of course”, I said. “Where are we going?”

“To see a Mr. Silas Rosenstern.”

I glared at him. He knew full well that the name would mean nothing to me. He chuckled at my displeasure.

“I am sorry, Watson”, he said. “I think that a part of this case will most likely involve the forging of official documents. Now, Mr. Rosenstern is a man of stern moral fibre, and would not himself do anything to assist in a crime, but the other two men in the capital capable of his degree of artistry are less scrupulous. Fortunately I was able to do Mr. Rosenstern a small service last year, so hopefully he will feel inclined to consider my request for help.”

“But why would a gang need official documents?” I asked.

“They would not.”

Some day, I thought, he would be investigating his own death, killed by an irate doctor whom he had teased once too often! Trouble was, knowing him, he might well succeed in it!

+~+~+

Mr. Silas Rosenstern operated out of a small and rather dirty looking curios shop on the edge of the East End. It was not so much run-down as almost run-over in its decrepitude but, I supposed, if the man was the master forger that Holmes proclaimed him to be, then why would he spend money on a fancy shop-front?

Holmes explained what he was looking for, and the man – I suspected that he was of Jewish descent, with that formidable proboscis and his name – nodded.

“The obvious question, Mr. Holmes”, he said. “Why should my colleagues not provide documents for people who pay for them? Each man is his own conscience, after all.”

“These documents will be fundamental to a new type of criminal”, Holmes said. “Either Mr. Smith or Mr. Best will be asked to create three or more sets of documents concerning members of the fabled Spencer John Gang.”

“Why would such a request not come to me?” the forger asked.

“Because you, alone amongst the three men capable of this task, always demand original documents before you will create copies”, Holmes said. “It is a clever safeguard against any serious criminal misuse of your talents. However, in the case of the Spencer John Gang, no such documents exist. I do not doubt that the people behind the gang might obtain them if they made an effort, but why bother when there are two men who will do what they want, with no awkward questions.”

“And you think that my friends in 'the business' would tell me of such a request?” the man asked.

“They might”, Holmes said, “once you tell them who is behind the gang. Such people would think nothing of adding one or two more deaths 'to prevent anyone talking'. Your friends' lives would count as nothing to them.”

“Do you know who is in this gang?” Mr. Rosenstern asked.

“The gang itself does not exist”, Holmes said simply. “It is a chimæra, created solely so its destruction can reflect honour and glory on a police service under constant pressure from some quarters to achieve 'results'. Unfortunately, that will mean that some innocent people have to die so that the fabled Spencer John Gang can be seen to have been defeated, but as my brother so often says, one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

I stared at him in astonishment.

“All a fake?” I managed at last. He nodded.

“That was why Henriksen was so unwilling to talk about it”, he told me. “He suspected, but policemen who rock the boat either do not get on, or worse, they - or their loved ones - meet 'unfortunate accidents'. And as I said, Henriksen has a family to think of, as well. Fortunately his silence spoke louder than any words; indeed, I rather think that he knew that.”

I was still stunned.

“This is a most serious matter”, Mr. Rosenstern said gravely. “I shall call on my fellow craftsmen first thing tomorrow morning, and have an answer for you by the afternoon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Holmes bowed, placed an envelope that I guessed contained some notes on the table, and left. I gathered what was left of my wits and scuttled after him.

+~+~+

Holmes was, unfortunately, proven all too right by the headline in the “Times” the following morning. The four members of the Spencer John Gang – Archibald Spencer, John Tallow, John West and John Woods – had met in a warehouse to plan their next robbery, but an anonymous tip-off had led police to surround the police. There had been a shoot-out, and all four were dead. Two officers had sustained minor injuries, and the plans found showed that their next target was to be the Middlesex home of the prime minister himself. 

“I wonder who they really were”, Holmes mused as he read the story himself, munching on his and half of my bacon as per usual. “I doubt that they were attending an unusually-located Sunday School in such a location. Well, I am sure that Mr. Khrushnic will soon let us know, and that Mr. Rosenstern will come through for us this afternoon. He has not failed me yet.”

“You did not mention what service you performed for him”, I said, buttering some toast. “Was it a real case?”

“No, an imaginary one”, he said airily. I glared at him.

“I can take my bacon back!” I threatened.

He immediately wrapped both his arms around his plate, and stared at me as of I was the meanest mean breakfast companion ever. I sighed, glad only that I had (as usual) quickly consumed my remaining two rashers, otherwise I would have handed those over as well.

“His daughter was dating someone who he suspected of being undesirable”, Holmes said. “I was able to prove that he was.”

“Undesirable?” I asked.

“Already married. To three wives. Each in a different part of the city.”

I choked on my coffee.

+~+~+

Both the expected telegrams arrived just after luncheon, and Holmes immediately fired off some of his own, two of which (I presumed) were thank-yous. An answer came back mid-afternoon to one of his messages, and Holmes once again sent out, telling me that this time he expected someone to call in response to it. I was grateful that I was not needed at the surgery on today of all days, and could be there to see justice being done. 

It would be, but perhaps not in the way that I had imagined. Shortly after dinner, we heard a heavy tread from the corridor outside, not unlike that of our friend Henriksen. The door opened to indeed reveal a policeman – but not one I was pleased to see. It was Inspector Matthew Wright.

“Please be seated”, Holmes said amiably. “Doctor, can you take the man's coat?”

I would have grumbled about being relegated to valeting duties, but something in Holmes' tone told me that there was more to his request than met the eye. I hung what was obviously a very expensive coat on the stand, and came to join my friend.

“What do you want?” the inspector demanded.

“That sort of tone to stop right there, for one thing”, Holmes said sharply. “You are about to be offered rather more in the way of justice that your foul actions merit, sir. Sit.”

The inspector scowled, but took a seat.

“Let me start by giving you four names”, Holmes said. “Albert Bass. Edward Jones. Edward Smith. Peter Smith.”

There was a definite flicker across the inspector's face, although he made a valiant attempt to cover it.

“Should those names mean something to me?” he asked.

“They are the four low-grade criminals who you and your men dispatched to the next world recently”, Holmes said. “But not before you had replaced their identities with some of the Mr. Best's most excellent forged papers, and re-christened them as members of the infamous Spencer John Gang.”

“I am sure that I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Then allow me to provide you with four more names”, Holmes said affably. “These, doubtless, will be more familiar to you. Superintendent Lawrence Kinsberg. Superintendent David Dumbleton. Chief-inspector John Pannier. Chief-inspector Andrew Ames.”

The man had gone pale.

“Is your memory improving, inspector?”, Holmes asked dryly. “Or would you like me to mention the upstairs room at your station where the five of you met to congratulate each other this morning, on having killed four relatively innocent men?”

“They were criminals”, he said defensively. “Vermin!”

I was shocked by his attitude.

“They had families”, Holmes said firmly. “Much worse for you, inspector, they had friends. The sort of friends who do not take kindly to certain members of the police setting themselves up as judge, jury and executioner. Now listen carefully, because should you fail to do so, I will feel not a single pang of conscience when there are further deaths in this matter. Starting with yours!”

He took a deep breath.

“Today is a Friday. The five of you have until next Friday to leave the country.”

“And if we refuse?” he asked. Holmes smiled.

“Doctor”, he said, far too casually, “please bring me the inspector's coat.”

I did as I was asked. Holmes turned the coat around, and we could both see that there was a small red mark in the middle of the back of it. I was quite relieved to see that it was just paint.

“You did not even see the man who placed that there today”, Holmes said. “Thus it will be that, if any of you are here in a week's time, you will not see the second red mark – except this one will be because you were shot in the back, as all cowards should be. You were the instigator of this plot, and your superiors were, doubtless, pleased at its success. You will of course go and talk to them on leaving here, and each of them will find the same red mark on their own clothing. If there is a killing next Friday, it will be you, and there will be one every three days thereafter until your associates too are removed, and the Metropolitan Police Service is all the better for it. Now leave.”

The man grabbed his coat and scurried for the door. I wondered if he might show some sense, and take the warning.

+~+~+

A week later, I found out that he had not. 

The following day, four top policemen resigned from London's constabulary.

+~+~+

Our next case involved preternatural happenings in Essex – but could a man really be frightened to death?


End file.
